


Room for Rent

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:37:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time Blair moved out. Better for everyone. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room for Rent

First published in _Sensory Overload 5_ (2000)

 

The quiet was so nice. 

Or rather, not the quiet but the freedom to play his music as loudly as he wanted, to yell, even to break something just because he felt like it, and not have to listen to furious complaints. Funny though, now that he had the chance, the quiet was all he wanted. He’d probably gotten used to it over the last few months. 

The room was spacious, too, even in the seedy little motel, bigger than the corner room he had in the loft. He wouldn’t be able to stay in the motel long, of course, not if he wanted to keep eating, but for a few days, until the transition was over and he found himself a place and moved his stuff from home...

_Home._ The word gave him pause. It had been a while since he’d called any place home and meant it. It was a permanency he’d not often had in his life. Well, okay, not “home” then, but once more just “the loft.” At any rate, surely Jim would be glad to get the place completely back to himself. 

Blair sighed, rolling off the bed to crouch beside it and tug his backpack out from underneath. It was better this way, they’d both agreed. Now he could stay up as long as he wanted, burn the scented candles he enjoyed, use up all the hot water...well, if there was any to begin with in that decrepit little motel. The freedom of it, the relief, made him feel almost guilty. 

And yet...

_It’s not like I was abandoned. This was my idea, right? One week turned into a couple of months, but then it was time to move on. Jim seemed pretty happy to get his home back, too._

That word again.

He winced, flopping down on the bed to sit crosslegged and start dragging out textbooks. _It’s not like we’re not friends anymore, either. I’ll still ride with him and see him at the station._ It had been enough at the beginning, and of course it would be again. Why wouldn’t it be? 

In a few minutes he was absorbed in his books, turning pages with practiced quiet to keep from waking a Sentinel who, for once, was too far away to hear. 

 

Maybe it had been the weather, unusually wet even for Washington and depressingly heavy and gray. Maybe it had been an arriving cold that hadn’t manifested itself yet, though a week-long incubation was pretty unlikely. Maybe he himself was simply being extra-sensitive to jibes he usually let pass, though he doubted that, too. Heck, maybe it had been that time of the month again for Jim, for all Blair cared. After all, he was still feeling his way in this Sentinel-Guide thing, let alone the whole friend-roommate thing. But after working his way through amusement, tolerance, and finally concern, he was perilously close to being fed up. And then he passed that, too.

It started with such little, everyday stuff, he didn’t even pay attention at first. 

“Sandburg!” That growl could shake paint off a wall. “Where’s that bottle of wine that was in this cabinet?”

Half the stuff his roommate complained about wasn’t even his fault, but this time he was guilty and knew it. Blair shrugged with an embarrassed half-smile. “Uh, I was going to buy you another one, Jim, I swear, but Cindy was coming over and--”

The Sentinel’s eyes narrowed. “Cindy. Is she the one whose perfume’s been giving me a headache for the last three days?”

Blair sniffed the air curiously. “I don’t know, man, I don’t smell anything. You’ve been getting a headache from it? Why didn’t you--”

“Look, Chief.” There was no affection in the nickname now. “Is it too much to ask that you hold your little trysts someplace else?” The cabinet door slammed. “And that if you borrow something, you replace it?”

The loft was to his home too. Jim had slowly begun to make that clear in asking his input about purchases for the place, in setting up routines for cooking and laundry, even in buying Blair his own set of those blasted color-coded tupperwares. But every once in a while, something the detective said or did still made Sandburg feel like a guest, and it unsettled him, putting him uncomfortably on the defensive. His voice cooled a little. “Jim, I’m sorry about the wine. I will replace it as soon as I get my next paycheck. And I didn’t know about the perfume. I’ll figure something out.”

“Forget it.” Jim threw his hands up to forestall any further conversation. “I’m already late--I’ll pick up a bottle on the way.” And with that non-settlement, he’d strode out of the house.

And so it had gone all week. 

Blair had been fair and given Jim the benefit of the doubt; maybe the lingering perfume _was_ getting to him. Blair made every effort to get the scent he couldn’t even smell out of the loft, and Jim didn’t mention it again. Yet the Ellison cold front continued to move in. 

Work-related stress Blair could understand. There were few jobs as stress-laden as policework, as the anthropologist had quickly learned. And his partner tended to get...cranky when a case wasn’t going well or some kink in the system tossed his hard work, Justice, and Ellison’s patience out the window. There would be some explosions, a few days of impatient gestures and snappish remarks, and then Jim would usually treat him to dinner or a game in unspoken apology. The occasional swells didn’t bother Blair much; even still getting to know the man, he’d glimpsed the depth and warmth underneath. And hey, riding waves was part of friendship, right? 

But this time there was no crisis at the station, no unjustly released scumbag on the streets. Not that that was the sole possible cause for Ellison’s disgruntlement, of course. Blair had known from the start that Jim wouldn’t always be easy to live with. But the detective’s bad temper hadn’t eased off and Blair had coaxed, prodded, questioned, and, with anthropological skills, observed closely, to no effect except to glumly realize he seemed to be the sole target of Jim’s derision. And Ellison knew just where to hit him, too, with insinuations about his getting too comfortable at the loft or getting in the way at the station, things Blair wasn’t always on the steadiest ground with already. 

After those outbursts, something lingered in Ellison’s eyes as he looked at his partner in unguarded moments, something Blair couldn’t quite place. But the detective’s exasperation and annoyance with him, and apparently him alone, was so obvious, Sandburg didn’t dwell on it much. 

Okay, so it was him, something he was doing. However, efforts to keep the loft cleaner, to cook Jim’s favorites, and to generally stay out of the way did little good. _If you’ve got sentinel senses, it’s not hard to catch the textbooks that slipped under the couch, or the little bit of overseasoning in the pot roast, or the box of Moroccan food I forgot in the back of the fridge a little too long, Jim._ Blair started studying at his office, mostly seeing Ellison only at the station. 

Not that things weren’t strained, there, too. When Jim wasn’t ignoring him, he was, on the most part, condescending. Sandburg had never hired on to be a secretary, but he felt like all he’d been doing lately was paperwork, and when he’d finally protested, Jim had loudly reminded him in front of the whole bullpen that he wasn’t a cop. 

_Gee, thanks for the newsflash there, partner. Any other ways you wanna cut me down in front of everybody? Maybe do a little dance for the guys, naked?_

It had been the proverbial last straw on his overloaded camel’s back. That evening he resolved to clear the air once and for all. 

Oh, yeah, great idea. 

“So what’s going on, Jim?” 

The question had seemed to genuinely surprise his partner, who blinked up at him from the couch in confusion. “What do you mean?”

That Jim really didn’t get it somehow made it feel worse. “Look, I’ve been walkin’ on eggshells around here lately and it’s getting a little old, you know? I can’t change it if you don’t tell me what I’m doing that’s bugging you.”

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously at him. Jim didn’t get defensive; he always went straight to offense. “You mean just because I don’t like living in a pig sty--”

“This is not a pig sty, Jim,” Blair countered calmly. “I’m doing my best here, but you’re always on my case about something. Is it something to do with your senses? Something you haven’t told me about? If you tell me what’s going on, maybe I could help--”

“Not everything has to do with my senses, Sandburg. I have a right to want to be comfortable in my own home, don’t I?”

Okay, the crack about _his_ home had hurt, but Blair knew how his partner worked. Anger was often his cover, not how he really felt. The grad student licked his lips. “It hasn’t just been the loft, man. Everything I do at the station rubs you the wrong way, too. I’m really trying here, Jim, but you’ve gotta give me more to go on.” 

Something flashed across Ellison’s face, gone before Blair could put a name to it. “Maybe I’m not the problem, Chief,” was all Jim said. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Since when did the mighty Jim Ellison admit he was wrong? And yet he’d hoped... “If my being here bothers you so much, maybe I should move out,” Blair said evenly. 

Jim’s face went still. “If that’s what you want, go for it.” 

_Oh, God, is that what I want?_ But by then he was so upset, the rest seemed to naturally follow. “Okay,” Blair faltered. “I’ll pack a few things tonight and get the rest by the end of the week.” No doubt he sounded as dazed as he felt when he said it. Even if it didn’t mean the dissolution of...something, maybe even several somethings, it was still an abrupt flip-flop of his life. 

“Fine,” was all Jim had said, his voice as flat as his expression. And then he turned his back on Blair and flipped on the TV to the sports channel. 

End of discussion. 

Blair had spent the rest of the night packing, hoping deep down throughout that Jim would come in and apologize and stop him. He heard the detective move restlessly around the house, and it even sounded a few times like he paused outside Sandburg’s door. But each time Jim moved on without a word, and Blair’s pride made him go on, packing his slowly developed trust and stability into portable little boxes. 

It was probably better this way, he’d finally decided as he worked. Blair had never been one to feel comfortable living by a bunch of rules, and settling into the rigid lifestyle of Jim’s loft had been very limiting. _Anthropologists need flexible lives. This is a good thing, cutting ties and being on my own again before roots sink too deep._

By the time he was ready to cart things down to his car, they’d both mellowed enough to talk civilly to each other. Jim helped him carry the few loads, and it had all been awfully polite, agreeing on a station schedule, rent arrangements, and the fact that everything would be better this way. 

Too bad he wasn’t positive he believed that.

But Blair was no fool, to stay with someone who clearly didn’t want him there, who cut him down. Friendship was never meant to absorb only one way, or to always give and never get. 

The loft had shrunk out of sight behind him as he drove away. 

He was no fool, all right. 

 

His little travel clock rang next to his ear with an alarming clang, startling him awake. Blair glared at it balefully before knocking it into silence. He’d so immersed himself in his studies the night before, it had been four in the morning before he’d realized it, and with an eight o’clock class to teach, that had left woefully little time to sleep. Jim often badgered him into bed at decent hours, invoking the need to be clearheaded when they rode together, and for a moment Blair missed the fussing. 

Only for a moment. 

Leaving the wet towel on the floor after his shower made him grin. One more guilty pleasure he hadn’t gotten much of lately, and it felt good. For all his extroversion, Sandburg had always enjoyed living alone. He’d forgotten how nice it felt to do exactly what he wanted to do. 

Breakfast...well, he’d have to pick up something from the vending machines at school. Most likely just a cup of coffee. No more stocked larders, but he’d made do with far less before. Coffee sounded like ambrosia at the moment. 

Yawning, Blair locked his room and left for school. 

 

The long day had stretched even longer with a flat tire on the way home from work, and of course he hadn’t replaced the spare since the last time he’d had a flat. He’d nearly pulled out his cellphone then to call Jim to pick him up, before thinking better of it. For some reason he was uncomfortable with the thought of asking Jim for help, not to mention having Ellison drop him off at the fleabag motel and see where he was staying. The closest gas station was only a few miles away anyway, close enough to walk. 

Two hours later, it was with bone weariness that Blair trudged up the stairs of the motel and down the hall to his room. In the fuss with his car, he’d completely forgotten to stop to get food, too, which made his whole day’s intake three cups of coffee, a donut, and a bag of chips. Jim was definitely rubbing off on him, he shook his head.

The sight in front of his door froze him in his tracks. Two paper bags sat tjere, and with instincts picked up from riding with Jim, Blair approached them with caution, peering inside from as far away as he could. Food, it looked like. Inching a little closer provided him with a sniff that proved him probably right. _What the..._ A step closer. _Definitely food._ He struggled with the door for a moment, then swung it open and dragged the bags inside. 

The only thing more surprising than none of his neighbors walking off with the bags, was the bags’ contents. His favorite tea, a variety of the oddities he enjoyed, some staples. At the bottom was some lukewarm chinese, again his favorite, and he dug in with relish. _Jim?_ No, Ellison didn’t know where he was, far less what his tastes were even after living together for months. He had kept Blair’s food segregated at ho--the loft and never touched or looked at or, if, he could help it, smelled the stuff. Besides, Jim hardly seemed likely under the circumstances to be doing him favors. The only people who knew where Blair was were two fellow students and friends from school, and Cindy... His smile broadened at the thought. _That’s just Cindy’s style. I’ll have to find a good way to thank her._ It almost made coming back to the dingy, empty little room palatable.

Blair caught himself. _So much for freedom. Got a little soft, haven’t I._

But somehow the food didn’t taste quite as great anymore. 

 

Two more days of school went by, whirlwind enough that Blair hardly thought about anything when he returned to his room each night, falling into bed in utter exhaustion. He was pushing himself and he knew it, but it didn’t matter. There was no one to talk to each night, anyway, sharing all the news and thoughts of the day, something he was surprised how keenly he missed. And the work made him forget the phone wasn’t ringing. 

They had agreed, Jim would call when he was going out and needed Blair. They had agreed, or at least he had agreed and Jim had seemed willing. Moving out was one thing, but he wasn’t about to leave the Sentinel hanging, or his own research. 

But three days had gone by and no call, except two from Joel to see how he was doing and even one from Simon. Both men had been careful to let him know that Jim was all right but barking at everyone in sight. _Been there, done that._ Maybe he’d been wrong, Blair mused briefly, maybe prickly was simply the way Jim was, and the need his senses imposed on him had simply made him cater more than usual to Blair at first. The thought really hurt, more than he cared to admit. 

Simon’s news didn’t help, either. 

_“Uh, Sandburg, I think Jim did that, uh, zoning thing today, when he was trying to listen in on a dealer we were tracking. He denied it, but like you said, he froze, didn’t hear a word I was saying. It wasn’t easy snapping him out of it.”_

__The captain’s words had given his heart some unwanted exercise, and Blair’s mind immediately went into overdrive. “Is he okay? Did he keep breathing? Simon--”

_“Easy, kid, he’s fine, I told you. I shook him out of it, but I put him on desk duty until you get back here. He’s not too happy about it.”_

__“I bet,” Blair said automatically, too caught up trying to process what he was hearing, and feeling. The captain’s belief in him, never quite so blatant before, touched him, but not enough to lighten the blow of his words. Jim had simply gone out into the field without him and zoned. That was one of the many reasons Blair rode with the detective, to keep that from happening, but Jim had risked stretching his senses alone rather than call him. _Well...fine._ Blair hadn’t met many people with as much pride as Jim Ellison, but Sandburg had his pride, too. The very fact that Simon was the one calling him instead of Jim said plenty. 

The conversation petered off after that, and Blair sat staring at the phone for a full five minutes after he hung up, before reaching for it again and punching in familiar numbers. His number, until recently. He had no clue what he was going to say.

The machine came on. 

“Uh, Jim, hi it’s me,” he stumbled over the words in clumsy, abashed relief that he didn’t have to deal with his partner yet. “Uh, I’ll be by in a couple of days to pick up the rest of my stuff. Hope that’s okay. You can reach me at school if you, uh, want anything.” He hesitated, then said in a rush, “Well, see you later,” and hung up. 

The only problem with throwing yourself into your studies to forget, was that you forget everything. It was only when the alarm clock went off again that Sandburg realized he’d worked the whole night through once more. 

 

Day four was an exhausting carbon copy of the one before it. Worry distracted him when sleepiness didn’t, leaving him to stumble through meetings and lectures. He reluctantly returned to his prison of a room early that night, determined to get some sleep. 

More groceries were waiting at the door, making Blair smile for what felt like the first in a long time. He really would have to thank Cindy because they were about all he had been eating of late, that and bad coffee from school, but Blair hadn’t seen her in two days. _So much for improved social life. What good’s privacy if you haven’t got anyone to share it with?_ The contradiction made him giggle. _Oh, man, you need some sleep..._

Blair stripped, getting ready to crawl into bed, when his eyes fell on the Burton tome he’d sat on the night table when he’d arrived and not opened since. _Haven’t done any research since I left, have I._ He had good excuses--without Jim to observe, there were less puzzles to solve and urgency to his research--but they were just that, excuses. He loved his topic too much to not to entertain a constant stream of new ideas and angles to explore, even without Jim around. It was just...in a few days it had gone from crucial information to simple research. Officially, he was still Jim’s observer and Guide, but if Jim didn’t call... 

Sandburg picked up the book, climbing into bed with it and tilting it in his lap, reverently tracing the old leather cover. What a find it had been, like the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking. It had crystallized his area of interest and research, in many ways determining his goals and who he’d become. _Who I am...Guide to the Sentinel. And friend?_

Burton hadn’t written much about what kind of relationship Guide and Sentinel had besides the way they functioned together, co-dependently. There was certainly no direction for how a Guide was to react if the Sentinel didn’t seem to need or want him around. If Blair even _was_ the Guide. Sometimes Jim needed him and the older man usually listened to him when it counted, but he often did okay on his own, too. _‘Course, Simon said he zoned..._ But if Jim didn’t push himself... _You mean, if he doesn’t push his senses. Lot of good they do that way._

But surely there was to be more between the two than just simple utility. _I thought there was. A lot more than just sharing the loft._

Blair leaned his head back to stare at the watermarked ceiling. Okay, so that meant an unusual amount of commitment for him, plus settling down in one place while there was so much else out there to study. But...he’d liked being in the loft and in Jim’s life. His role was important, and it felt good to be needed, to have a place. _A home’s not such a bad thing to want, is it?_ He hadn’t worked all the kinks out yet, of course, but being Jim’s partner had just felt right. 

It wasn’t fair for Jim to expect that Blair would swallow everything just because he was the Guide, though. Darn it, he had his own life, too. Sure, it was hard to leave his home and his friend-- _okay, my best friend, and Sentinel._ But he really would be a fool to ignore his own needs and desires for someone who didn’t much seem to care. 

Blair slid down between the cool sheets, feeling suddenly ashamed at the thought. He was an anthropologist; he was supposed to observe and draw his own conclusions, not just accept what was told him outright. Jim Ellison was not a man to bare his feelings or his soul, and sometimes he was darn difficult to get along with. But Blair could sympathize with Jim’s frustrations with his lack of control over his unwanted gifts, and the dependency they caused. He had seen Jim’s eyes when they worked on a crime scene involving children. He’d heard the worry in his partner’s voice when Blair was in trouble. He’d feigned unawareness of the vigil Jim had kept at his bedside the night after Lash, but he knew the detective had sat there all night watching over him to make sure he was really all right. 

And then there were all the little things: bullying Blair into bed, fixing him tea and his favorite foods that time he was sick, letting the rent slide and stocking the kitchen when he knew Blair was running low. Providing companionship. Stability. A home. Jim wasn’t always obvious or into big displays, especially as the two of them were still getting used to each other, but _something_ was there. The friendship thing certainly hadn’t seemed just one-sided. _I couldn’t have imagined it all._ Blair refused to believe that.

_So, question is, does that balance? Is that worth all the grief, the complaints and the put-downs._ Well, not always. It sure didn’t seem to when Ellison’s out-of-the-blue bad moods stretched for over a week like it just had, and no doubt would again. But then, Jim _had_ seemed a little troubled, and friendship wasn’t always about equality anyway, was it? God knew, during exams Blair was no angel to live with, either, and Jim seemed to take those times in stride. Friendship was more about carrying the other’s weight when they couldn’t, and knowing they’d be ready to do the same for you. Either you decided you were gonna stick with it or you didn’t.

_Does that mean I just decided not to?_ Put like that, maybe he had been foolish, after all. 

_I take it back, Jim. I wish I were home._

__Blair shivered under the covers, sliding Burton back onto the nightstand. Being a Guide was hard enough without having many guidelines to go by, but figuring out friendship was a lot harder.

Despite his fatigue, it was nearly dawn before his thoughts finally tapered off into incoherent exhaustion and he fell asleep, his hand resting on the book. 

 

Friday. Blair dragged himself out of bed with all the elasticity of a piece of paper, feeling just as flat and limp. His head ached from lack of sleep and stress--ironic, he smiled bitterly at the thought. Here he’d been trying to escape stress, and he had just managed to find a whole new version of it. 

No teaching that day, thank God, for he had no idea how he’d be intelligible enough to do it. Several cups of coffee were all that stood between him and finding a dark little corner to curl up in. Even _after_ the coffee that was tempting. 

Then his third and final session brought the sober announcement that one of the students, an enthusiastic brunette whom he’d known by sight and name from several anthropology classes, had OD’d on sleeping pills the night before, an apparent suicide. 

That was it. Too tired to sort out the thoughts or deal with the emotions, Blair went straight back to the motel, rubbing at wet cheeks the whole way. 

The phone was ringing as he stepped in the door. It took a deep breath before he felt composed enough to trust picking it up. 

“Hello?”

_“Sandburg?”_

__Blair slumped on the bed, smiling wanly at the voice. “Hey, Simon, how’s it going? Still checking up on me?”

The captain hesitated. _“Well, uh, I heard an anthropology student suicided and, well, I just wanted to know if you knew her and if you were doing all right?”_ The words were awkward but sincere. __

__The concern eased some of the ache in Blair. He’d gotten several good friends out of his relationship with Jim. “Yeah, I knew her. Marcy. We had some classes together. But I’m okay. We weren’t that close.” He said the last awkwardly, aware of how cold it sounded.

Simon didn’t seem to take it badly. _“Well...good.”_ A pause. _“How you doing otherwise? When are you going to be coming in?”_

__“Jim hasn’t called,” he said automatically, immediately.

_“You know that Ellison pride of his. He’s worried about you, Sandburg. I’ll pull your credentials if you repeat this to him, but I think he could use your help.”_

__Blair’s heart sped up once more. “He zoned again? Simon, you said--”

_“He’s fine,”_ Simon growled. _“Still parked at his desk and being his usual charming self.”_

Blair squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. What could he do? A Guide couldn’t force himself on his Sentinel; that would pretty much defeat the purpose. He knew Jim’s pride, and he wasn’t above holding grudges of his own, but in truth, even if Jim was beginning to regret things as much as he--of which he had no proof--they’d really talked themselves into a mess this time. Blair wasn’t even sure how to start undoing it. 

_“Anyway, Sandburg, I need you to come in and finish up some paperwork, some incidents you were there for. Could you come in sometime today?”_

__He almost asked first if Jim wouldn’t be there, before realizing how childish that sounded. If he remembered Ellison’s schedule correctly, anyway, Jim was doing his four-day rotation at the beginning of the week at the moment. Knowing his partner, the detective would probably already have left town, gone off to fish by himself and think some things through. _Let me know what you decide, huh? I could use some help figuring out this one myself._ “Yeah, okay, S--uh, Captain. How ‘bout around six?”

_“After dinner. Make it seven. I’ll be back by then.”_

Right, after dinner. Whatever. “Sure. See ya then.” 

“Good.”

They hung up, and Blair sagged back to lie across the bed. Three more hours. Maybe a nap would clear his head a little; he felt awful. Setting his clock, he was asleep nearly the moment he laid it on the nightstand, his thoughts on Marcy. 

 

It had only been earlier that week since he’d last been to the station, and already it felt strange, like he didn’t belong there. _Well, I don’t. I never have, I just belonged with Jim, and that meant being here._ Without Jim as the connection...

He straggled up to the seventh floor, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. A few hours just wasn’t enough to clear his head after several nights of missed sleep. Blair didn’t like to admit it even to himself, but it would take some time to get used to living alone again. He’d gotten far too used to following someone else’s schedule, and being looked after when he didn’t. 

The closer he got to Major Crimes, the more awkward he felt, suddenly anxious about possibly seeing Jim again. _This is his turf. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea..._ But he’d already promised Simon. 

Thankfully, Jim was nowhere in sight when he timidly came in the door. Probably off just as Blair had thought. The shift that was there he didn’t know so well, those who usually worked when he and Jim didn’t, and no one paid him much attention other than a semi-friendly wave or two as he made his way around desks to Simon’s office. 

Blair knocked on the captain’s door, able to see through the windows the black man at his desk. Simon glanced up and waved at him. 

Sandburg poked his head in. “There was some work you wanted me to finish up...?”

“Yeah, Blair, come on in.” 

The “Blair” made him instantly suspicious. Simon rarely called him that, except a few times when he’d been worried about him or spoke to him on an equal basis. Very unusual. “Yeah?”

The captain dug through his desk for a moment, emerging with a file folder that he then reached out to Blair. “I’m sorry to call you in like this, Sandburg, but I still need your report on the last two scenes you and Jim went to, and there’s also some work here you started and I’d appreciate it if you were the one who finished it, too.”

Sandburg’s eyes narrowed. He _was_ the one doing Banks a favor, but even so, the captain was being far too nice. His suspicions coalesced. “Uh, Jim isn’t here today, is he?” he asked with as much nonchalance as he could scrape together.

Simon stared at him intently, and Blair felt himself flush under that look. “You know he’s off Fridays through Sundays right now. Why?”

He suddenly felt very silly. The fatigue was making him paranoid. “Uh, nothing, never mind.” He was backpedaling, file clutched in hand. “I’ll just, uh, go out there and get working on this. You mind if I use the breakroom?” 

If the fact that he wanted to avoid Jim’s desk was obvious, Simon didn’t remark on it, just shook his head, his eyes still sharp on Blair. It was a relief to get out from under those knowing gaze. 

In the empty breakroom, Blair set aside with relief his nagging thoughts, fatigue, and doubts, and dove into the familiar paperwork. 

The reports required enough thought to keep him occupied but were familiar enough not to overload his tired concentration. He focused on what he was doing, soon becoming too involved in reconstructing crime scenes for the report to notice the cops who came and went in the small room. Or the one who came and stayed, standing motionless behind him. 

“Sandburg, what are you doing here?” 

His name, even the annoyance in the tone wasn’t what made him jump in startled response. It was the voice that he knew too well. Blair turned, pulling off his glasses, his eyes following Jim as he circled around from behind him to stand at the opposite end of the table. The smooth motions of a stalking predator. Blair swallowed. “Paperwork. Simon asked me to come in and finish up a few things.” 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered without thinking, flushing instantly in the knowledge he’d be caught in the lie. No doubt he’d looked better, even to someone who didn’t know him like Jim did.

If he thought Simon’s gaze was piercing, it was nothing compared to the blue eyes that bore into him from across the table. Any concern in them had been wiped away by Blair’s already regretted rebuff, but he couldn’t tell if what was left was anger or unease.

There was a long moment of silence, the Sentinel unusually without response. Blair nervously played with his glasses. Of himself he was sure now, but of where he stood with this man, perhaps one of the people who mattered most to him...

“I got your message,” Jim finally broke the silence, his aggressive stance easing. 

“Uh, good,” Blair managed.

“You found a place yet?”

“Well, not exactly. A friend of mine’s probably gonna keep my stuff until I do.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; no doubt one of his friends would be willing, if he asked. Odd, that he’d been so reluctant to look for a new place, let alone find storage space in the meantime. 

“It’s not in my way if you want to leave it longer,” Jim was saying. Blair looked at him, surprised at even that much concession. Ellison was also idly playing with his mug, another unusually hesitant bit of behavior on the Sentinel’s part. 

Sandburg was an observer, so he observed. There were signs of sleeplessness and worry in his partner’s face, too, though his eyes weren’t befogged with sleep like Blair’s. But his shoulders were hunched, a position of defensiveness Blair had only seen when Jim was unbalanced by something, either embarrassed or upset, and unable to cover it. And that was remarkable enough in itself. 

_You painted into a corner, too, Jim? Geez, how’d we get ourselves into this?_

__There were memories, if he cared to call upon them, times of mixed pain and comfort when Jim had come through for him in spades. Lash and the days after, when Jim nearly hovered in his worry over his Guide. Maya’s departure, when even eating and breathing seemed too much effort and Jim had walked him through meals, driven him to school, looked after his laundry and chores, even sat in on some of his classes until the fog cleared and he was functioning on his own again. The dope dealer with a gun who’d managed to grab Blair as a shield for a few heartstopping minutes until Jim had talked him off, followed by Ellison physically hanging on to Blair for over an hour after until the Sentinel was certain they were both over the shakes and okay.

It was part of his job to come to the rescue, sure. But it wasn’t a job requirement to worry about Blair, to take attacks on his partner personally, to be there even days later to help the anthropologist through the aftershocks. And that didn’t even bring in all the little day-to-day things, or the trust and dependence of a Sentinel in his Guide. Jim wasn’t always comfortable trusting or needing, and sometimes it came out as anger, but Blair knew better. He’d learned with surprising speed to recognize the gruff gratitude underneath, the quiet pride and respect that sometimes shone in that intense gaze, and the clumsy but sincere efforts of reciprocation from a man who was not used to expressing his feelings. 

Or at least he usually did. 

Blair cleared his throat. “So, you gonna get a new roommate?” 

Jim looked at him so oddly, it almost made him smile. “I never wanted a roommate in the first place, Sandburg,” the detective growled at him. 

Blair nodded. He knew that. “It must be nice having the place all to yourself again.” 

Ellison had clearly figured out that something was going on here, just not what it was yet. He stared at Blair, eyes cold and hard, uninviting. _Doesn’t work on me, Jim, remember?_ “It’s quiet,” was all the detective said. 

Sandburg’s amusement was short-lived. _I can’t do this by myself or we’ll be right back to where I left in the first place._ He put his glasses back on and tried a different tack, something else that was bothering him. “You haven’t been out on the streets all week?”

Now Jim was getting mad; Blair could see the steady burn. “Simon’s got me chained to a desk.” No mention of the zone, the Guide noted with a sinking feeling. “Worried about getting enough material for your paper?” Ellison acidly added. 

Blair recoiled at that, trying to refuse to feel hurt and not being able to help it. “Don’t you know it stopped being about the paper a while ago?” It slipped out, soft and hurt, before he could stop it. Sandburg shook his head and began to gather his stuff. His eyes stung but he chalked it up to exhaustion. Maybe he’d just seen what he wanted to. After all, it made sense for partners to look out for each other, and the Sentinel for his Guide, out of utility if nothing else. It didn’t have to mean anything more. 

_You don’t really believe that, do you?,_ his heart quietly countered. _Friendship is a decision_ , _not about whether the friend deserves it all the time or not._ But that wasn’t fair. Why was he the one who had to make all the concessions? Friendship wasn’t about one person making a commitment. 

“Why do you think I didn’t mind sharing the loft?” Jim shot back, also rising to leave. 

Blair froze, dragging up his gaze to the detective. The comment sounded so annoyed, he almost missed what it said. __

__Jim scowled, but it wasn’t with anger this time. “Look...I don’t need that room anyway, and your stuff is already there. I don’t really mind the noise so much...Why don’t you come back home for another week and we’ll give it one more try?”

Blair just stared at him, speechless, mind reeling. 

Jim cleared his throat, rubbed at his forehead. “Come on, Sandburg, you know what I mean...I go off on stuff and say things but you know I don’t mean it...that’s just the way I am. It’s only that...this is hard to deal with sometimes. That doesn’t mean I want you to leave.” 

The confession had been almost reluctant and Blair had seen the detective more comfortable facing down a group of armed felons, but the effort warmed him clear through. And the same look he’d caught before in Ellison’s eyes struck him with an electric jolt this time. Fear. He was actually afraid Blair would say no. That realization cut deeper than any words Jim could have said, even the halting, difficult apology. 

But Blair’s silence was getting to the detective. “Listen, I don’t care; do whatever you want,” Ellison finally muttered, waving a hand dismissively. He strode out of the room without a look. 

The anthropologist sagged back in his chair, worn out from the rollercoaster of an exchange. He probably should go after the detective, say _something,_ but he was still in shock. Had Jim really said all that, all but admitting he wanted Blair to come home? _Home._ He couldn’t believe how good that sounded. _But what if..._

Blair couldn’t sort this out now. He was so tired, and he still wasn’t sure what to say. It took a supreme effort of will, but Sandburg put the whole mess out of his mind and went back to the paperwork. 

 

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, facedown in his work, until a hand was gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Sandburg?”

Blair blinked up tiredly, fuzzily, at the speaker. “Jim?” _Must’ve been more tired than I thought..._

“When’s the last time you got a good night's sleep?” 

He forgot he was supposed to be at odds with his partner, obediently beginning to count off the days on his fingers. What day was it again? 

The hand that had stayed on his shoulder gave him another little shake. “Never mind. You can finish this later. We’re going home and you’re going to bed.” 

That roused him. He looked up at Jim in astonished silent query. 

Ellison paused long enough in gathering the papers back into the file to give him a quick glare. “You want to go back to that motel instead?”

Blair immediately shook his head. 

“Fine, then we’re going home. We can get your stuff and your car tomorrow.” He walked out, papers tucked under his arm, apparently fully expecting Sandburg to follow. 

Blair did, feeling like he’d missed the middle act of the play. _I’m too tired for games, man..._

In the squadroom, Jim simply shoved the file back into his hands and turned him in the direction of Simon’s office. Still too confused to argue, Blair gave him a last bewildered look and went, forgetting to knock on the door as he stumbled into the room. 

Banks raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you two going home?”

_Okay, maybe I slept through the resolution or something._ “Uh, I guess so. I mean, he just said we were...” He was tripping over his tongue and annoyed at himself for it. 

Simon frowned, leaning forward. “You don’t sound very sure, Sandburg. You don’t want to move back in?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I don’t know, I guess I do, but... I never even said yes, Simon. He just...”

Banks chuckled. “I know what you mean. Probably the same way he came in here the day after you left and just told me where you were staying and that he wanted an extra patrol through there because it wasn’t a good neighborhood. Or the way he found out about that anthropological student and had me check on her. Or the way he’s been badgering everyone who knows you to find out how you were doing. That’s just the way he is, Blair.” 

_How did he know where I was..._ Blair gave up wondering just as quickly. Like he could hide from a Sentinel detective, especially when he hadn’t been trying. He suddenly had a suspicion Cindy wasn’t responsible for the care packages of food, either. “I know,” he said quietly. 

“Good. So get him out of my hair for a while, will you? He’s been almost impossible here all week, worried about you.” 

Blair blinked, then suddenly grinned at the captain with old enthusiasm. “Thanks, Simon. Oh, uh, here’s most of the paperwork. I’ll finish the rest Monday, okay?” He had an idea the paperwork had only been Simon’s excuse to get him--and Jim--in there anyway. 

“Captain,” Simon corrected him with a loud sigh, but Blair was already heading out the door to rejoin his partner. 

Jim was waiting for him with his jacket, watching him in that sideways fashion Blair knew Jim thought he didn’t notice. Probably checking his vital signs, too, making sure he was okay. Blair shrugged into the jacket, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn but smiling brightly nevertheless as they fell into step together toward the elevator. 

“Hey, Chief.” The rough concern in Jim’s voice was another layer of satisfaction on top of the ones already settling on his soul. “Did you know that girl at Rainier, Marcy Branson?”

Even that twinge of grief wasn’t so bad with someone to share it with. Blair found himself talking all the way down to the garage and the whole car trip, enjoying the simple pleasure of having someone listen. At the loft, Jim warmed up some soup for them both, then gave him a push toward his room. His room, in his home. 

Blair slept well, contented, for the first time that week. 

 

The motel didn’t seem to be as cheerless a place on a late Saturday morning, especially when he knew he didn’t have to stay there. Jim had driven them and then helped load Blair’s stuff into the truck, then gone out to wait for him while he turned in the key.

The manager wrote him a receipt. “Bill’s already paid.” 

Blair stared at him. “By whom?”

The man shrugged laconically. “Came in the day you checked in and left his credit card number; said to bill him for your stay.”

“You have his name on the card, then,” Blair prodded. 

The man looked at him evenly. “Can’t give out that kind of information.”

“Uhhhh-huh.” Blair shook his head. “Well, thanks.”

The manager didn’t bother to reply. 

Sandburg shook his head and went out to the truck, climbing in on his side. “Can you believe that? Somebody paid the bill for me ahead of time.” 

“Imagine that.” Jim pulled smoothly out into traffic, not even glancing at him as he went. 

“You might need the receipt,” Blair offered, tucking it into the glove compartment also without a side look. 

“Hmm.” 

Blair couldn’t help smiling at that as he leaned back in the seat and made himself comfortable. The morning had had a few awkward patches as there was some mending left to do, but he found he could honestly claim no regrets about going back. Jim might not have said it in so many words, but the way his partner acted had told Blair plenty. Of course, Ellison had already barked at him once for leaving a towel draped off the sink and had all but ordered him to eat the full breakfast the older man had cooked. And yeah, it chafed a little, and no doubt would again. But friendship had a lot of different expressions, and he could accept that. Perhaps it wasn’t as overt as his, but Jim had made a decision too, and being cared about like that was worth whatever the cost. 

It was good to be home again. 

The End


End file.
